


The Most Exciting Thing

by lahdolphin



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Coming of Age, Illegal Activities, Multi, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Underage Drinking, Vandalism, mentions of underaged sex, teenage recklessness, vague implications of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2348816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kids are not all right, but together they might stand a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Exciting Thing

**Author's Note:**

> The main characters are sixteen or seventeen here. Something like that.

_I do the dumbest things for you._  
 _Why do I do the dumbest things for you?_  
 _I would be safer on my own;  
_ _I didn’t care, you were the most exciting thing I’d ever known._

**\- “You Told The Drunks I Knew Karate” by Zoey Van Goey**

 

* * *

 

When Kirihara and Zaizen show up at his doorstep at eleven o’clock on a Friday night, Hiyoshi stares at them. The two have this crazy look in their eyes—they look like complete mad men.

“Let’s raise hell,” Kirihara says, grinning wickedly.

“What he said,” Zaizen adds unoriginally.

The two are donning matching black backpacks filled with gods know what; Zaizen is holding another bag in his hand that is probably meant for Hiyoshi. Kirihara is smiling manically, on the verge of breaking out into crazed, adrenaline filled laughter. Zaizen looks calmer that Kirihara, but that does not reassure Hiyoshi at all.

“Fine,” Hiyoshi says. “Let me change.”

After he closes the door on their faces, he hears Kirihara say, “Wear something dark! And briefs!”

Hiyoshi sighs. He wouldn’t be surprised if he were in a jail cell by the end of the night. Or dead in a ditch. It’s hard to tell with Kirihara and Zaizen, who take the idea of teenage rebellion as a personal challenge. Sneaking out when grounded, ditching class, sneaking into R-rated movies—it’s so cliché that Hiyoshi could vomit.

Hiyoshi can’t talk, though. It’s not like he ever says _no_ to those grinning idiots.

He puts on a pair of briefs, dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and ties the laces of his tennis shoes so tight that it nearly cuts off the circulation to his toes. When he goes back downstairs and opens the door, Zaizen tosses the spare backpack at him and Kirihara turns to run down the front path to the main road.

“C’mon!” Kirihara shouts over his shoulder. "There's only seven and a half hours until sunrise!"

Zaizen and Hiyoshi both roll their eyes.

Hiyoshi doesn’t know where they’re going—he just follows. They hop on a late night bus, empty except for the driver and them. The trio sits in the back in different seats and they turn to face one another. The city lights pass by in the windows in blurs.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” Zaizen says, “since this nerd couldn’t meet up yesterday to form the battle strategy.” Zaizen looks at Hiyoshi when he says it.

“I had a test to study for,” Hiyoshi replies.

“ _Nerd_ ,” Kirihara declares. “Okay. So Hyotei has this huge statue of the school’s founder in the main quad, right?”

“Yeah,” Hiyoshi says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “There’s a belief that if you walk in it’s shadow, you have to run to the northern bell tower within thirty seconds or you’ll fail your next test.”

“Yeah, that statue,” Kirihara confirms. “We’ve got a pink bed sheet, silly string, and some washable paint. We’re going to give the statue a bit of a makeover.”

“I brought a bra and wig,” Zaizen adds.

“Good thinking. Any complaints Wakashi?"

Hiyoshi frowns. "Did you remember duct tape? The sheet won't stay up on it's own."

Kirihara grins. "Of course."

They get off the bus two stops away from Hyotei High—the fewer breadcrumbs they leave, the better, according to Zaizen—and walk through the cool autumn night to Hiyoshi’s school. Adrenaline begins to pump through Hiyoshi’s system, urging him to run, to act, to do anything to get rid of the energy building in the pit of his stomach. 

With Kirihara and Zaizen on either side of him and hell to raise in front of him, Hiyoshi falls victim to teenage recklessness. It’s not the first time and Hiyoshi secretly hopes that it won’t be the last.

The school comes into sight. A large, formidable iron wrought fence circles the entire campus; three-foot-wide bushes are planted on the other side of the fence and stand as tall as the fence. They walk from one end of the fence to the other, looking for cameras and possible entrances. They find none.

“Unless you brought bolt cutters, we’re not getting that chain off the front gate,” Hiyoshi says. “I bet the back entrance is the same way.”

“I didn’t see any cameras,” Zaizen says.

“Me neither,” Kirihara says.

They look to Hiyoshi for final confirmation. “There are state of the art cameras inside, but the school doesn’t take vandalism that seriously. Sports teams sneak in all the time to haze new players—they duct tape them together and leave them in the fountain. As long as no one is hurt, they turn the other cheek.”

“You couldn’t have told us that sooner?” Kirihara asks.

“You didn’t ask,” Hiyoshi says. “And I thought it would take the fun out of it.”

Zaizen considers that for a moment. “It does take the fun out of it, but only a little. We’re still going to do it. Makes things easier, at least.”

“So we jump the fence?” Kirihara asks.

Zaizen grins. “We jump the fence.”

“Obviously, but _where_?”

“Eastern side,” Hiyoshi answers. “The aren’t any buildings there, just sports fields, so there’ll be less cameras—just in case.”

Hiyoshi knows they sound like hardened criminals. He doesn’t care. His heart pounds anxiously in his chest, his fingers gripping the straps of his backpack, barely able to resist himself from taking it off and seeing what Zaizen and Kirihara packed for him. He feels like he could out run Kamio right now. He feels like nothing could hurt him.

They jog to the eastern side of campus and exchange quick glances before taking off their bags. They toss them over the fence and bushes in high arches, the thump when they hit the ground clearly audible. There are two horizontal bars that support the fence and they use them as footholds. Kirihara goes first, gripping the bars tightly, foot just barely able to squeeze between the slots to rest on the support bar. When he reaches the second bar halfway up the fence, Zaizen takes one bar in each hand at the bottom, ready to climb. Kirihara continues climbing up, up, up—

“The spikes at the top are dull, but be careful,” he says, then perches himself on top of the fence like an owl. “Shit, that’s a big jump.”

“Then go in the bushes if you’re a scared,” Zaizen says.

Kirihara manages to glare at Zaizen through the dark before jumping over the fence, landing on the top of the bushes and bending the long branches down to the ground. He curses despite his reasonably soft landing. When he stands, the branches spring back up.

Hiyoshi grabs the fence and begins to climb, using his upper body strength to pull himself up more than he uses the footholds and leg power. He’s halfway up the fence when Zaizen jumps down, landing on Kirihara if Kirihara’s scream means anything.

If he wasn’t used to scaling fences like this, Hiyoshi would probably be having more than a few issues, but he manages to reach the top with ease. He jumps down onto the bushes like Kirihara, riding them down to the ground where Zaizen is sitting on Kirihara’s chest.

“I hate you,” Kirihara says.

“Love you too,” Zaizen replies sarcastically.

Hiyoshi holds out a hand which Zaizen takes and tugs the boy to his feet. The two begin to walk towards the quad, Hiyoshi pointing the way, and Kirihara says from behind, “Hey, help me up too, jerk!”

Hiyoshi glances at him over his shoulder; Kirihara is standing despite his comment and is quickly catching up to them. Hiyoshi says, “Remember last year at Nationals when I fell asleep and you drew a sharpie dick on my face? Because I remember that.”

Kirihara flips him off then falls into step with the two.

They weave in and out of the buildings, sticking close to walls and bushes when possible, and make their way to the northern quad where the statue stands. The dark gray-brown statue is made of stone and stands ten feet tall on top of a podium. There’s enough light that they don’t need to pull out their phones or flashlights. They drop their bags at the foot of the statue and take a minute to look at their blank canvas of destruction.

Zaizen is the first to move, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bra with cups the size of Hiyoshi’s head. The band is too short to circle the statue completely, but Zaizen manages to hook its arms through the straps and leave the bra hanging loosely over its chest. Kirihara laughs.

“Let’s do its face next,” Kirihara says, grabbing a box of cheap finger paint out of his bag. “I get to the do the mustache.”

“Then I get to do the lipstick,” Zaizen says.

“Deal.”

Kirihara hands Zaizen a small tub of red paint then turns to look over his shoulder at Hiyoshi. “You want to do the eyebrows, Wakashi?”

“Of course.”

Kirihara grins.

The statue looks even more ridiculous in daytime, Hiyoshi thinks as he passes it on his way to the science building. He stops walking, much to Ohtori’s confusion, and takes a picture to send to Kirihara and Zaizen, knowing they’d want to see their work showcased in the proper lighting.

 

* * *

 

They make plans to hang out on Saturday, which is the equivalent of saying they have no plans and will do whatever pops into their heads, no matter ridiculous, dangerous, or illegal it may seem. Hiyoshi does not question it anymore. He rolls with it and occasionally he is the one who comes up with some ridiculous, dangerous, illegal thing for them to do.

Fucked up people get along—that’s what Zaizen always says whenever Hiyoshi questions why he is friends with those two troublemakers.

Zaizen’s parents are never around, Kirihara’s parents live together but don’t even talk anymore, and Hiyoshi’s parents pretend he doesn’t exist unless they need him for something. Add in the cynicism of their generation, the crushing weight of their seniors’ expectations, and teenage stupidity, and the three of them are well above the threshold of “fucked up.”

And they do get along, maybe because their lives are fucked up, or they’re fucked up, or maybe not; they don’t think about it that much. They enjoy each other’s company and know their doors will always be open if something in their lives takes a turn for the worse, which happens more than you would think. Even now, when they’re in Zaizen’s room playing old Mario Party games, the act of being together feels right, like the world isn’t going to shit.

And for them, that’s enough.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi is in the middle of history class when his phone lights up inside of his desk. He glances at the group message that Kirihara started with him and Zaizen.

 **Kirihara Akaya  
** _we ned frsh fish, vaseline, mrble and bb pns._

**Zaizen Hikaru**   
_Learn to type properly._

**Kirihara Akaya**   
_We. Need. Fresh fish. Vaseline. Marbles. And bobby pins._

**Zaizen Hikaru**   
_I get the Vaseline, but why fish?_

**Hiyoshi Wakashi**   
_That’s what you chose to ask?_

**Kirihara Akaya**   
_oh yeaaaaah u wrnt there whn we tlkd bout it  
were fuckin up seikgau_

**Zaizen Hikaru**   
_I’ll get the supplies._   
_Meet me at Seigaku at 10pm._

**Hiyoshi Wakashi**   
_Do I even have a say in this?_

**Kirihara Akaya** _  
hahahaHAHAHA_

**Zaizen Hikaru**   
_Good one, Wakashi._

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi goes through school like a zombie, copying down lecture notes and barely taking in what his teacher is saying. When he gets home, he sees a text from Zaizen telling him to get online so they can play a game together. Hiyoshi  says he’ll get on when he can and goes into the kitchen where he sees his parents.

In situations like these, he usually ignores his parents like they do him, but Kirihara and Zaizen have rubbed off on him too much for him to do that anymore. He feels stupid and invincible, like he can’t be hurt. (He can.)

“I’m home,” Hiyoshi says. His mother continues to do the dishes and his father does not look up from his book. Hiyoshi takes a bottle of cold tea out of the fridge, walking towards the table where his father is sitting. “I got a perfect on my history report.”

“Hmm,” his father replies, the same sound he makes when a fly buzzes around his head.

And there it is. That little voice in his head saying, _Why did you even bother?_

It hurts.

Hiyoshi gives up. He goes upstairs, texting Zaizen again and saying he’ll get online now. Hiyoshi sits on his bed, pulls up his laptop, attaches his controller, and puts on a headset. Zaizen is already online when he logs in. The request for vocal chat appears a minute later.

“Hey,” Hiyoshi says when he answers. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah. All good on my end.”

“Same. What did you want to do?”

“I made a new character. Help me power level him so I can run through that DLC. We can spawn camp at the final boss.”

Hiyoshi frowns. He should do homework. He has a test coming up and he didn’t quite understand what was going on in English, but at the same time, the ache is still present and he wonders why he should even bother. It's not like his parents care about his grades. So why should he?

“Want me to dup you my lower level legendaries too?” Hiyoshi asks, loading Zaizen into his game.

“You know exactly what to say to turn me on, Wakashi.”

Hiyoshi rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

The mindlessness of the game allows him to forget his conversation, if you could call it that, with his parents. It’s nothing new but for some reason, it’s bothering him more than usual.

They’re halfway to the boss area when Zaizen notices that something is up.

“You seem out of it. You missed that headshot by a mile.”

Hiyoshi frowns because Zaizen is right. Usually he has better aim than that. He sighs heavily. “It’s my parents,” he answers shortly.

“You want to have a chick flick moment? You can if you want to.”

“It’s nothing new just—“ Hiyoshi sighs again, fingers moving along the buttons of his controller without thinking about it. He misses his mark the first time but makes it the second time. “I feel like they don’t care sometimes. When I was a kid, I thought it was tough love, but since I’ve gotten older, I just don’t know anymore. Sometimes I feel like I’m just an inconvenience to them.”

“I see.”

“I’ll overhear people at my school talking about how they went on a family vacation or their entire family went out to dinner, and I realize that people have healthy relationships with their parents. Guys will play golf with their dads or girls will go shopping with their moms and sisters. I’m lucky if my parents ask me if I did my chores. I’m used to it by now, and I know it’s not healthy, but it still takes me off guard when I realize that things like good parent-child interactions actually exist. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” Zaizen is silent for a moment as he travels them to a new spot, muttering about useless side quests and how annoying the quest character is. Then he says, “My parents haven’t been home all week. I’m running out of grocery money again.”

“You want me to lend you some?”

“I’ll live. I can steal lunch from Kintarou or Kenya.”

Hiyoshi makes a noise of acknowledgement instead of responding with words. He knows Zaizen will understand.

They play for two hours before Hiyoshi sighs and says he needs to do his homework. Zaizen calls him a nerd but lets him quit out of their game.

 

* * *

 

It’s midnight and Hiyoshi does not know where he is.

They hoped on the last train and got off at a random stop, one that none of them recognized. Hiyoshi is half tempted to pull up their location on his phone, but Kirihara would shout at him for ruining their fun. Zaizen would probably agree.

They walk along the sidewalk in a town they don’t know, passing stores, most of them closed, not a person in sight. The buildings on their right began to thin out until they disappear completely, their length replaced by a chain link fence a few feet taller than them. The fence is covered in ivy, but beneath Hiyoshi can see signs of graffiti. Eventually they see a faded yellow _do not enter_ sign.

Kirihara grins. “Let’s see what’s on the other side.”

“It says do not enter,” Hiyoshi says.

“When has that ever stopped us before?” Zaizen asks.

He has a point.

They climb the fence together, jumping over easily, their feet landing on half-dead grass and compact dirt. The streetlights don’t continue and Hiyoshi can’t quite make out where they are. Zaizen and Kirihara begin to walk into the dark; Hiyoshi follows several feet behind.

“This is awesome,” Kirihara says.

“How can you tell?” Hiyoshi asks. “I can’t even see my own feet.”

He thinks he sees Kirihara and Zaizen turn their heads to look at one another. The two continue forward, diverging left and right about ten feet ahead. Hiyoshi dumbly continues to walk straight and plummets straight down—six feet to be exact.

“What the fuck!”

His right ankle aches, not sprained but perhaps twisted from his unexpected impact. He feels around the hole he’s in, hands pressing into the walls, which are damp and crumble beneath his hands. He thinks he feels strings of something, thin and stringy but tough to pull out. What the hell did he just fall in?

He looks up, the moonlight providing enough illumination to make out Kirihara and Zaizen’s hovering figures.

“What did I just fall into?” Hiyoshi asks, panicking slightly.

Kirihara laughs. “Guess.”

“I am _not_ playing around, Akaya.”

“Take out your phone and see for yourself,” Zaizen says.

Hiyoshi swears. He can’t believe he didn’t think about that sooner.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone, turning on the flashlight option. He frowns when he sees brown surrounding him—dirt. The hole he fell into is completely rectangular and _holy fuck._ Is he where he thinks he is?

“You saw the do not enter sign but not the sign right below it saying cemetery?” Zaizen questions, amused.

“I’m in a grave,” Hiyoshi says and suddenly, he’s freaking out. His blood pressure shoots up like a rocket. “I’m in a _grave_. Get me the fuck out!”

Kirihara laughs. “It’s not like there’s a coffin in there. It’s empty.”

“I don’t fucking care, Akaya. Get me _out!_ ”

Zaizen stretches out his hand for Hiyoshi to grab onto. Kirihara circles the empty grave to help Zaizen pull Hiyoshi up with great difficulty. It’s hard to push yourself up when your ankle burns.

When Hiyoshi is finally yanked out of the grave, he walks past his grinning friends and sits in the grass, head between his knees. He can still smell the dirt on his hands.

Zaizen and Kirihara are on either side of him now, Zaizen leaning down to see his face.

“Shit, dude, are you claustrophobic?” Zaizen asks. “You’re hyperventilating.”

Hiyoshi shoves him away. Zaizen falls to the ground and his back hits something—a tombstone.

If they weren’t already going to hell, they are now.

“Sorry,” Kirihara says, sounding sincere. “We were just messing with you.”

Hiyoshi looks around to get a better grasp on his surroundings. His eyes have adjusted to the minimal light and he can make out vague shapes, including a series of closely packed mausoleums on top of the hill. Tombstones of varying sizes scatter the ground.

“Why did you guys think going into a cemetery was a good idea?” Hiyoshi asks, sighing. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

Zaizen stands and offers his hand to Hiyoshi, who takes it and is pulled to his feet. He dusts off his pants, hoping he isn’t scarred for life, and wonders what they’ll do now.

Hell, he doesn’t even have to think that hard.

“We’re going up to the mausoleums, aren’t we?” Hiyoshi asks.

“Duh,” Kirihara replies.

Hiyoshi walks next to Kirihara and Zaizen as they walk up the hill together, the pain in Hiyoshi’s ankle disappearing with the movement.

The mausoleums are larger up close. There are no markings on them, not even a name that Hiyoshi can see. They stand in front of two of the buildings just staring, not talking or moving. The morbidity of it all puts Hiyoshi at ease for some strange reason. They’ll all be dead one dead, anyways.

That doesn’t mean he wants to be another one of those graves anytime soon, though.

Kirihara takes a step forward. “Wanna go inside?”

“Too far, even for us,” Zaizen says.

Kirihara looks at him, grin full of challenge. “C’mon. What are you, scared?”

Suddenly, without warning, an intimidating voice shouts, “Hey, who’s up there?”

The three of them move instantly. They sprint towards the small alley-like space between two mausoleums and squeeze inside. Kirihara and Zaizen end up right in front of each other with less than a few inches of space between them. They press as tightly to the walls as they can, bodies stiff and unyielding, breath ragged.

“Guards?” Zaizen says.

“Why would a cemetery have guards?” Kirihara asks.

“People steal bodies and shit.”

“They probably think we’re necrophiliacs or something,” Hiyoshi says. “How am I ever going to become a lawyer if I’m arrested for grave robbing? People will think I’m some kind of sick sadistic pervert.”

“You want to become a lawyer?” Kirihara questions, sounding a little awed.

“Not _now_ , Akaya,” Hiyoshi groans.

They can barely see anything from their position, but they can hear the distance voices of two guards, maybe more. Shit. Artificial light from flashlights flicker in the open cemetery.

Despite their situation, Kirihara is thrumming with energy. “Let’s get closer,” he says. “Just to the edge of the alley.”

“No,” Hiyoshi hisses through his teeth. “The guards are right there. Have you lost your mind?”

Kirihara turns to Zaizen for support. “Wakashi’s right, you’re fucking crazy.”

“C’mon,” Kirihara whines. “Just a little closer. It’s more fun that way.”

“You’re going to get us arrested,” Hiyoshi says.

“Well, I’m going.” Kirihara moves, foot snapping a twig comically but more important _loudly._  

From their hiding spot, they hear a gruff voice say, “Hey, did you hear that?”

Hiyoshi panics. He grabs Kirihara’s wrist, pulling him further into the small alley; Zaizen follows and, despite his talk, must panic as well because he puts a hand to Kirihara’s mouth to shut him up. Hiyoshi tightens his grip on Kirihara’s wrist, refusing to let go, knowing Kirihara will bolt to play chicken with the guards if they give him the chance.

In the dim light, he can make out Kirihara and Zaizen, the two holding the other’s eye with unbroken intensity. Hiyoshi suddenly feels hot, wonders if his heart will explode in his chest, wonders why the hell his two best friends are looking at each other like that in this situation.

For a brief moment, Kirihara and Zaizen turn their heads to look at him. Hiyoshi can hear them breathing, feel the heat radiating off their skin. And all of the sudden, Hiyoshi feels like he’s drowning, as if some dam broke and the water flooded every molecule in his body. He can’t look away from their gazes.

The guards approach, boots crunching into the earth. Kirihara has this wild look in his eyes that Hiyoshi can’t get a read on.

“Don’t even think about it,” Zaizen warns Kirihara. The two lock eyes again, staring intently at one another. Hiyoshi feels the need to gasp for air.

The footsteps are louder, closer. The lights of their flashlights shine, light creeping into their alley, casting their shadows along the ground. Closer, closer, _closer_ —

A dog barks in the distance.

“Think they’re over there?” one of the guards asks.

“Probably. Let’s check it out,” the other replies.

The lights turn towards the direction of the animal, the footsteps fading as the guards turn and walk away. They’re safe and Hiyoshi feels his heart rate plummet to near normal.

Zaizen removes his hand from Kirihara’s mouth and wipes it on his pants. “Sick, dude. Why’d you lick my hand?”

Kirihara shrugs then turns to Hiyoshi, looking him dead in the eye, the same way he had looked at Zaizen, at _him_. Why is he looking at him like that?

Hiyoshi suddenly can’t breathe, his throat swollen with heat, his chest tight and heart pounding anew.

“You can let go of my hand now, Wakashi,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“It was your wrist, not your hand, idiot,” Hiyoshi mutters. He hesitates for a second before pulling his hand back. Kirihara’s eyes seem to shine with something, that look of intense concentration gone but replaced by something else entirely—Hiyoshi just doesn’t know what.

“Let’s get out of here,” Zaizen suggests. “Before they come back.”

“Seconded,” Hiyoshi says.

(Hiyoshi has no idea how he makes it back home in one piece.

In the morning, he wakes up hard, the vague feeling that he dreamt about something—some one—he shouldn’t have. No, that’s not quite right. There were multiple people he shouldn’t have dreamt about.)

 

* * *

 

His dream is a one-time incident that does not happen again, much to his pleasure and displeasure. As far as Hiyoshi can tell, nothing changes between them and he begins to wonder if he imagined the tension at the cemetery.

They play tennis at the courts near Zaizen’s house, Zaizen coming out on top after three games with Kirihara and two with Hiyoshi, who feels like walking, talking jello with limbs. They sit on the courts, eating stale cheetos from the vending machine and chugging copious amounts of bad sports drinks until their stomachs threaten to revolt and die on them.

Kirihara spreads eagle on the court, looking up at the cloud-covered sun instead of his two friends. “Have you guys ever watched weird porn?”

“Define weird,” Zaizen says.

Kirihara tilts his head to look at Zaizen, then Hiyoshi, who does not want Kirihara to look at him while they talk about porn. “Like, gay porn,” Kirihara says.

“With girls,” Zaizen says.

“Well, yeah. But with dudes?” Kirihara asks.

Zaizen doesn’t look disgusted. He shrugs a single shoulder. “Never looked interesting.”

“What about you, Wakashi?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Kirihara folds his hands behind his head and returns to looking up at the sky. “Let’s sneak into that movie that came out last week, the R-rated one.”

“I have—“ Hiyoshi begins to say, but is cut off.

“ _Nerd_ ,” Kirihara says.

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

 

* * *

 

 **Kirihara Akaya** _  
lets hang out_

**Hiyoshi Wakashi**   
_I have a test tomorrow._

**Kirihara Akaya** _  
u ALWAYS hve a test_

**Hiyoshi Wakashi**   
_I want to go to law school. I need the best grades possible._

**Kirihara Akaya** _  
u were serious bout tht?_

**Hiyoshi Wakashi**   
_Yeah. I have been for a while._

**Kirihara Akaya** _  
o well guess ill bug hikaru_

 

* * *

 

The three of them meet up again a week later at a diner where Zaizen suggests they dine and dash because he’s a bit short on cash. They’ve never done it before, never even thought about it as far back as Hiyoshi can remember. 

“No,” Kirihara says firmly, surprising Zaizen and Hiyoshi a little.  

“So even you have limits, Akaya,” Hiyoshi says. “I’m a little surprised.”

“You make me sound like a horrible person,” Kirihara says.

“You _are_ a horrible person.”

Kirihara flips him off.  

Hiyoshi covers Zaizen’s meal and Kirihara covers Zaizen’s share of the tip, and they head out. No one asks if Zaizen’s parents are around to give him food or money at home because they already know the answer.

They’re closest to Kirihara’s house this time, but they don’t go there immediately. Kirihara and Zaizen walk close together in front of Hiyoshi, who follows behind by a few steps. Are they closer than usual, or is Hiyoshi just imagining things?

They debate seeing a movie (Zaizen doesn’t have money), or checking out a music shop (“We were kicked out of that one, right?” Kirihara says), or dicking around in the back alleys around the red light district (“Last time we did that, you told the drunks I knew karate and we had to hide behind the grocery story until the sun came up,” Hiyoshi says.)

They end up at some shitty arcade downtown, swearing and threatening each other over children’s games. It’s not the proudest moment of Hiyoshi’s life when he shoves Kirihara out of his chair in the racing game, but he’s certainly done worse so he doesn’t feel all that bad about it.

They stay there until they get kicked out for swearing in front of young children. Kirihara laughs, Zaizen smiles, and Hiyoshi sighs.

“How many does that make now?” Hiyoshi asks.

“Arcades or business establishments in general?” Zaizen questions.

Hiyoshi changes his mind, deciding he doesn’t want to hear that number.

 

* * *

 

Kirihara shows up at Hyotei High, walking towards the tennis courts with a smug smile that nearly sends Mukahi into a fit and actually does send Shishido into a fit. Atobe dismisses Hiyoshi for the day, telling him to “take care of his troublesome rival.” Hiyoshi changes out of his tennis uniform and meets up with Kirihara.

“Do you exist to antagonize people?” Hiyoshi asks.

“Probably. Let’s play video games.”

It takes them half an hour to get to Hiyoshi’s house from campus. They bypass Hiyoshi’s parents and head up to his room, locking the door behind them. Kirihara sets up some shitty fighter game that he always wins while Hiyoshi changes. He doesn’t bother going to another room to strip—it’s nothing Kirihara hasn’t seen before.

They sit on Hiyoshi’s bed with their controllers in their hands. They make it through four rounds—Kirihara wins all four—without talking. Unless you count insults and death threats then, yes, they did talk.

But eventually, Kirihara drops a bomb that sends Hiyoshi spiraling.

“Just so you know, Hikaru and I are fucking around. We have been since, like, three weeks ago.”

“What do you mean you’re fucking around? All you two do is fuck around.”

“Together.”

“What?”

“We fuck around together.”

Hiyoshi’s fingers pause over the buttons and Kirihara takes the chance to impale his character on screen. Thoughts run through Hiyoshi’s head too quickly for him to process them. _We fuck around together_. Kirihara looks at him with those damn green eyes and Hiyoshi feels heat rise up his neck to his face, no doubt in his mind that he’s blushing.

“You got a problem with that?” Kirihara asks, challenge in his voice.

“What—when— _what_ —” Hiyoshi can’t seem to form a full thought.

“Just did.” Kirihara shrugs, unbothered, and begins to set up another round of their game. Hiyoshi watches Kirihara instead of the television. “I was hanging out in his room since you were busy studying and being responsible and shit. We got into this game of gay chicken but neither of us backed out, so I ended up with my hand on his dick.”

Hiyoshi swallows thickly. How can Kirihara be so calm about this?

“Dude, choose your character,” Kirihara says.

Hiyoshi finally, _finally_ looks away from Kirihara and back to the game. He picks the same character, sets his mods, and confirms his choice.

“What did you do?” Hiyoshi asks.

“I ended up jerking him off and he went down on me.”

Hiyoshi doesn’t know why he asks. He doesn’t know why his stomach seems to tighten and his body buzzes with sexual energy.

Kirihara picks their arena and skips their character intros. The match loads and Hiyoshi begins to mindlessly press buttons. A few minutes pass.

“So?” Hiyoshi eventually prompts, the open question hanging in the air.

“So… Shit happens.”

No, Hiyoshi thinks. This is not an example of shit happens. Normal people don’t jack off their best friends and write it off as shit fucking happens. Then again, when has Hiyoshi ever thought of Kirihara as normal?

“Are you guys dating?” Hiyoshi asks. “You said you’ve been doing this for three weeks.”

“I don’t know. We’re fucking around. I go over to his house if I don’t have practice and we order pizza and make out. Sometimes we shower together and jerk each other off. We haven’t talked about if we’re dating or not. What’s with all the questions?”

“My two best friends are fucking around together. It’s a lot to take in. Excuse me for wondering what caused this to happen. I didn’t even know you liked guys.”

In the game, Hiyoshi is getting the shit beat out of but he can’t exactly find it in himself to care at the moment. Kirihara gets one KO, two, three—the words winner and loser flash on screen.

When Kirihara doesn’t immediately start up another game, Hiyoshi looks at his friend. Kirihara is still looking at the winner-loser screen, the controller held loosely in his hands.

“I’d been thinking about it for awhile—guys, I mean,” Kirihara admits. “Ever since that night at the cemetery. I was with you guys and it felt like something broke, like a dam or something. Hikaru said he felt it too. Didn’t you feel something?”

Kirihara turns to look at him, to stare at him, and Hiyoshi stares back. Kirihara is looking at him like he had that night in the cemetery, when Hiyoshi could feel their breath and the heat of Kirihara’s skin under his hand. The idea of what Kirihara is saying terrifies him.

“No. I didn’t feel anything.”

“Oh. Okay.” Kirihara looks back at the television. “Wanna go another round then order a pizza or something?”

“Sure.”

They don’t make out, or jerk each other off, but some part of Hiyoshi wishes they had, that Kirihara had seen through his lie because he had felt something too that night.

 

* * *

 

The three of them don’t have the chance to get together until two weeks later. Hiyoshi knows that Kirihara and Zaizen have seen each other—rather, he assumes since he’d be more surprised if they hadn’t based on what Kirihara told him.

Kirihara is already in Zaizen’s bedroom when Hiyoshi shows up at noon on Saturday. Zaizen leads him upstairs and Kirihara is on the bed, green eyes blown out with a small red spot below his jaw near his ear, and it would take a fool to not realize what had been happening. Hiyoshi doesn’t say anything.

“So what are we doing?” Hiyoshi sits at the desk chair instead of the bed—just in case. “You just told me to come over because of an emergency.”

Kirihara grins, hoisting up an unopened bottle that Hiyoshi hadn’t noticed until just then.

“What is that and how is it an emergency?” 

Zaizen sits on the bed next to Kirihara, perhaps a little closer than Hiyoshi remembers. Zaizen says, “My brother accidentally got some of my pants when we did laundry. I was digging around his drawers and found it.”

“It’s apple schnapps,” Kirihara says “We’re going to go up on the roof and drink it. Hikaru’s parents aren’t home until Monday so we can’t get caught.”

“Won’t your brother notice it’s gone?”

“He already knows I took it,” Zaizen says, sounding bored. “I agreed not to tell our parents that he’s dropped out of university so he owes me at least one bottle of liquor.”

Hiyoshi stares at the slightly green bottle in Kirihara’s hands with trepidation. They may sneak into school grounds to mess up statues, sneak into R-rated movies, and dick around in cemeteries, but alcohol is something they’ve never touched, at least not as a group. Zaizen said he and his brother got wasted together once, and Kirihara says that Niou and Marui gave him sips of beer at parties they had. But Hiyoshi’s never even tasted the stuff.

Despite that, Hiyoshi finds himself agreeing like he always does. They slip out Zaizen’s window onto the roof, climbing to the top of the low slope and sitting down with Zaizen in the middle. They’re not in the middle of nowhere like Zaizen claims—Hiyoshi can spot neighbors far off on either side of them and several across the street—but there is no one close enough to see three stupid teenage boys on the roof with a bottle of schnapps.

Zaizen opens the bottle, takes a long swig, and then passes it off to Kirihara. “Tastes like shit,” he warns.

Kirihara tries it. He pulls a face. “Kinda burns. Not that bad, though.”

Zaizen shrugs at Kirihara’s opinion, taking the bottle from him and passing it along to Hiyoshi. The glass is warm under his hand and he can smell it before he tastes it, the burn sharp on his tongue but not so much going down his throat. It tastes like apple cough syrup only thinner. 

He takes a second sip just for the hell of it before passing the bottle back to Zaizen.

There’s a slight breeze and the tree leaves rustle all around them. Several sips later and Hiyoshi begins to feel warm all over. Kirihara lies down, saying that next time they’ll bring a blanket because the shingles hurt like a motherfucker, and Zaizen laughs a little too easily at that. Hiyoshi brings the bottle to his lips, takes a long sip, and sighs after swallowing.

When a cop car rolls by, they nearly kill themselves getting back in through Zaizen’s window.

 

* * *

 

Kirihara scales the side of Hiyoshi’s house, climbing up the rain pipe and knocking on his window at six in the afternoon. When Hiyoshi looks out his window and sees Kirihara hanging on to the second floor of his house by a cheap metal pipe, he does not panic. Instead he sighs, opens his window, and helps pull Kirihara inside.

Kirihara doesn’t laugh like he usually does. He sits on the floor of Hiyoshi’s bedroom, legs crossed in front of him like a child, and stares at the ground.

Hiyoshi does not ask. If Kirihara wants to talk, he will.

Hiyoshi locks his bedroom door, sits on his bed, and goes back to downloading that CD Mukahi told him about. After several minutes, he hears Kirihara talking softly.

“I came home from practice and my parents were fighting. They’ve said hello to each other like they usually do—they never really talk more than that unless mom is in the way in the kitchen when he’s trying to make his dinner, or he’s mad that she misplaced a bill or something like that. But today they were just _screaming_ at each other from the kitchen.”

Kirihara does not look at him. He stares at the ground, face filled with an unfitting frown, and grabs his ankles tightly to give his hands something to do.

“My dad kept calling my mom a cunt and she blew up. She said that if he ever called her that again, she would kick him out, and I heard a cabinet slam and her scream for him to just—to just _leave_ and never come back. I was standing at the front door and my dad came by, grabbed his keys, and walked right by me without saying anything. I wanted to punch him or yell at him or something, but I couldn’t. I could hear my mom crying from the kitchen and I didn’t want to see her but I didn’t want to follow my dad either.”

Kirihara tugs his knees into his chest, buries his head between them. He looks small compared to the boy who stands on roofs and vandalizes statues. This is not the boy who acts like he stands on top of the world.

“I just left her there,” Kirihara says softly. “I left her there, and I don’t want to go back, because what if he’s back or she’s still crying?”

Hiyoshi doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t know,” is all he can manage.

“I don’t even know why the fuck they’re still married. They obviously hate each other. I’ve even brought it up to Mom before, told her that if they wanted to get divorced that I was old enough to not care, but she just said she didn’t hate him. She obviously doesn’t love him, though. I’m so damn sick of hearing them fight all the time. Why do people stay together if they’re both miserable?”

“I don’t know,” Hiyoshi repeats, a little quieter this time. “I wish I could help.”

Kirihara tilts his head and looks at him. His eyes are wet. Hiyoshi has never seen him cry before. “It fucking sucks,” he mutters. “I hate living like that. I hate it, Wakashi.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight?”

Kirihara is quiet for a moment. “Do you mind? I’d go to Hikaru’s, but I don’t want to. We’d just end up making out or something and I really don’t need that right now. And I can’t go home—I just… can’t.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

(The next day, Kirihara is smiling like normal. Hiyoshi wonders if it’s real or fake.)

 

* * *

 

 **Zaizen Hikaru** _  
Get online so we can play borderlands together._

**Hiyoshi Wakashi**   
_I’m too tired to play that again._

**Zaizen Hikaru** _  
I just want to get my mechromancer to OP 8._

 **Zaizen Hikaru** _  
Wakashi._

 **Zaizen Hikaru** _  
Wakashi, respond._

 **Zaizen Hikaru** _  
I know you’re reading these._

 **Zaizen Hikaru** _  
My phone tells me you’re reading these._

 **Zaizen Hikaru** _  
Wakashiiii._

**Hiyoshi Wakashi**   
_You’re acting like Akaya._

**Zaizen Hikaru  
** _I’ve been meaning to ask. Is he okay? He came to my house the other night and said he already crashed at your place once and didn’t want to again. He just slept in my bed with me but didn’t say what was up._

 **Hiyoshi Wakashi  
** _Parent crap_

 **Zaizen Hikaru  
** _Ah._

 **Zaizen Hikaru  
** _So borderlands?_

 **Zaizen Hikaru  
** _Don’t ignore me shit lord._

 **Zaizen Hikaru  
** _Play video games with me._

 **Zaizen Hikaru  
** _If you are my friend you’ll play video games with me._

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi’s phone buzzes violently against his nightstand and wakes him up. He reaches blindly for the device, his head still buried in his pillow, and presses the phone to his ear. He knows it’s one of two people and he is not above killing either of them for waking him up so early on a school day.

“What?” Hiyoshi snaps.

Kirihara laughs before Hiyoshi hears Zaizen’s voice, “We’re going to the park. You should come with. Then let us crash at your house because the trains have stopped running.”

“I should leave you on the streets to die.”

“C’mon, Wakashi, don’t be like that,” Kirihara says, voice slightly muffled as if he’s talking too far away from the phone. “We’re outside your house and everything.”

“I hate you both.”

“That is obviously why you spend every wakening hour that you are not involved in tennis or school with us," Zaizen says. 

“Hikaru, fuck you.”

“Just get your ass outside.”

Zaizen hangs up. Hiyoshi debates staying in his room, but knows better than that. They’ll end up throwing rocks at his window and the last time they did that, Hiyoshi’s entire window shattered and woke up his family. By the time his parents showed up, Kirihara and Zaizen had disappeared, and Hiyoshi was left to explain why his window was busted at two in the morning.

Hiyoshi checks the time. It’s three in the morning.

He really will kill those idiots one day.

(But not today.)

He tugs on a sweatshirt and a pair of gym shorts, grabbing his phone and house keys on his way out of the house. He sees Kirihara and Zaizen at the end of his driveway, laughing at something, their voices not quite reaching Hiyoshi’s ears.

“You said we were going to a park, right?” Hiyoshi approaches and two separate arms drape across his shoulders, Kirihara and Zaizen so close, so warm, so real. Hiyoshi shoves his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and sighs. "There's one two streets over."

They walk like that down the street to a public park with poor lighting and cracks in the cement pathways. Kirihara laughs loudly in Hiyoshi’s ear while Zaizen’s snarky remarks make Hiyoshi smirk. Kirihara is the first to break away, running and jumping onto a swing, standing and rocking with momentum. Hiyoshi and Zaizen come to a stop, but Zaizen does not move his arm off of Hiyoshi’s shoulders.

“You’re going to break your neck and we’ll have to hide your body,” Zaizen says.

“You say that all the time and it’s never once come true,” Kirihara argues.  

“Because only the good die young and you’re a devil,” Hiyoshi says.

Zaizen smiles. “You’re going to need some ice for that one, Akaya.”

Kirihara flips them off, almost falls, and laughs as he regains his footing. He swings without care, arching so high it seems to deny the laws of physics. He uses his entire body to rock back and forth. Zaizen tilts his head against Hiyoshi’s head and sighs. Hiyoshi glances at him. Zaizen has his eyes closed, his body going slack against his own. Zaizen's lost weight again. Hiyoshi doesn't mention it.

“Hey!” Kirihara shouts. “Wanna see me jump off?”

“You could die,” Zaizen says.

“So?” Hiyoshi frowns. He doesn’t like that answer. Kirihara grins. “I’m gonna do it!”

Zaizen lifts his head; Hiyoshi misses its weight even though it had only been there for a moment. “Ten bucks says he falls on his ass,” Zaizen says.

“Why would I agree to that when we both know he’s going to fall on his face?” 

“You’re full of smart remarks tonight, Wakashi. I like it.”

Kirihara jumps, sticking his landing—just barely. He laughs despite his stumble and comes over to his two friends, smiling broadly like he owns the world, like he is invincible and can never be hurt.

“Congratulations, you didn’t die,” Zaizen says, but there’s admiration there, a certain respect for Kirihara’s teenage recklessness.

Kirihara grabs Zaizen by the front of his shirt, smiling almost triumphantly as he reels Zaizen away from Hiyoshi and closer to him, hands moving, tugging, grasping and—they’re _kissing_. Hiyoshi can see Zaizen’s tongue press into Kirihara’s open mouth, can hear the soft noises their lips make that Hiyoshi thought only existed in movies and cheap porn.

It’s the first time he’s seen any proof of their relationship and for some damn reason, he can’t look away, his eyes glued to his best friend’s lips as they make out.

After a few moments, Zaizen shoves on Kirihara’s chest, pushing him away, and Kirihara laughs wildly. Hiyoshi doesn’t know why that was funny, but the two smile at each other like the sun is coming out of their asses and the world is right. It’s disgusting.

He wishes they looked at him like that.

And then it hits him like a ton of bricks. He likes them—both of them—equally—for different reasons that he can’t quite place with his heart racing, palms sweating, chest contracting, but he does like them. He’s _so_ screwed.

Kirihara turns to look at Hiyoshi, tossing an arm around his shoulders again like he hadn’t just kissed Zaizen in front of him. “C’mon, let’s go find a slide that we can chill in. Hikaru brought a flask of whiskey and sunrise is a few hours away.”

Kirihara begins to walk and Hiyoshi is dragged along. “I have morning practice tomorrow,” Hiyoshi says, sighing. Then, frowning, corrects, “Today, technically.”

“Then drink enough to make sure you’re still drunk by then,” Kirihara says.

Kirihara doesn’t let go, his body leaning against Hiyoshi’s, his smile so close, his laughter infectious. If only Zaizen had been on his other side, Hiyoshi thinks bitterly the next morning when his head pounds and bile rises in his stomach. 

 

* * *

 

“Why do you want to be a lawyer?” Kirihara asks.

They’re at the tennis courts near Kirihara’s house, the ones he goes to on weekends for extra practice. Hiyoshi just finished his match with Zaizen; Hiyoshi won by the skin of his teeth. Now Zaizen and Hiyoshi are sitting on a bench cooling off with Kirihara sitting on the ground in front of them.

Hiyoshi brings his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. He shrugs.

“C’mon, Wakashi, you have to have a reason.” 

Zaizen looks at Hiyoshi expectedly, also curious.

Hiyoshi rolls his eyes. “Why do you suddenly care?” Kirihara shrugs. Hiyoshi fixes him a look. “Very funny, Akaya.”

“I thought it was clever,” Zaizen says.

Kirihara jumps to his feet, takes two steps towards the bench, and presses a quick kiss to Zaizen’s lips. He grins. “Thanks, Hikaru.”

This time, it’s Zaizen who rolls his eyes. “I said clever, not cute.”

Kirihara frowns. Zaizen sighs and kisses him softly, a little more tenderly than Hiyoshi expected of fuck buddies, a little longer than Kirihara had kissed him just now. The open affection makes Hiyoshi slightly uncomfortable—no, rather, he feels alienated by them when they kiss at random, or brush shoulders with obvious sexual undertones, or stare at each other from across a table.

Kirihara squeezes between Zaizen and Hiyoshi on the bench, both boys staring at Hiyoshi, still waiting for a proper answer.

“I thought I could go into child services—the legal side of it,” Hiyoshi mutters, wondering why the hell he’s telling them this. “Help kids out or something. Make sure they get taken care of. That a good enough answer?”

Kirihara shrugs, leaning towards Zaizen, awkwardly resting his body against Zaizen’s shoulder. “I’m satisfied,” he says. “Now which one of you is still running on their second wind and wants to play me?”

 

* * *

 

With his hand down his pants, Hiyoshi thinks of them— _both_ of them—and wonders what would have happened if he had said yes to Kirihara all those weeks ago.

 

* * *

 

Hiyoshi is on the floor of his room studying for his upcoming test while Zaizen plays a video game at his desk and Kirihara sits on his bed, tossing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it. Kirihara wanted to play chicken on a road downtown, but Zaizen shut down that idea because Kirihara would actually die. Kirihara shrugged like he didn't care. They decided they would go spray paint the bricks under the bridge after Hiyoshi finished his homework. 

Hiyoshi stares at his calculus notes, wondering where the X came from, and why there was a Y there, and how in the world did the answer equal zero?

“Shit,” Hiyoshi mutters. “I have no idea what any of this means.”

“I’d help, but I’m shit at math,” Kirihara says.

“Ask one of your seniors,” Zaizen suggests. “One of them has to have a brain, right?”

Their words go in one ear and out the other.

“Fuck.”

Hiyoshi flips through his notes, the equations and symbols like a foreign language. He spots and stares at the sticky note with a list of his homework that needs to be done by tomorrow. His chest goes tight. He can’t do this. He can’t do this and there’s no way he’ll get into college, let alone law school, and no amount of struggling will change that. He isn’t good enough. He never has been.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_.”

Kirihara stops tossing his tennis ball up and down. “Wakashi, it’s okay. It’s just calculus. No one likes math.”

“I can’t—“ Hiyoshi shoves his notes away from him, anxiety swelling his chest and blooming outwards. He feels trapped inside his skin, in the room, everything suddenly so tight and close and he can’t breathe. “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do something as simple as this!”

“Wakashi, _it’s okay_ ,” Kirihara repeats, sitting up and watching him. Hiyoshi wants him to look away, wants to be alone, to find space to breathe, to _think_.

“It’s not okay,” Hiyoshi snaps.

“Dude, chill,” Zaizen says. “You’re going to have a panic attack.”

A little late for that, Hiyoshi thinks bitterly but doesn’t say it. He presses his palms to his eyes, not crying, refusing to cry because Hiyoshi Wakashi does not cry.

He sits on the floor like that for a while, thankful for his friend’s silence. He does not need their cruel remarks. He does not cry but he comes close.

“Do you want a hug?” Kirihara asks. It’s probably a joke, a cruel one, or maybe it isn’t. Hiyoshi can’t tell anymore. His world is shrinking and expanding at the same time, his mind racing as fast as his heart and he wants it all to stop. 

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying.

Kirihara gets up and sits next to Hiyoshi on the floor. He wraps a single arm around Hiyoshi, tugging him towards his chest slightly so Hiyoshi can feel the warmth radiating off of him, his hand on Hiyoshi’s upper arm. Hiyoshi turns his head slightly, tilts his body into Kirihara’s, and lets himself breathe deeply like he just surfaced the water after holding his breath for a minute straight.

Kirihara’s hand rubs gently up and down his arm for a few silent moments. “Any better?”

Hiyoshi makes a vague noise instead of answering. It doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure, but he doesn’t know if he feels any better. He feels warm, safe, wanted. But better? Not really.

“Just let me know when you want me to let go. Remember it’s okay. I’m right here. Hikaru’s here. And it’s okay.”

Hiyoshi doesn’t know how much time passes. He doesn’t keep track. It isn’t too long, not long enough for it to get awkward. But it’s longer than any physical contact he’s had in a while.

Eventually, Hiyoshi sits up straight and Kirihara drops his arm from his shoulder. Hiyoshi wonders if he should thank him, but that would probably make it weird—weirder than whatever just happened.

Has he ever hugged Kirihara before? Maybe during the spur of the moment, when one of them won a tennis match they had been dying to play, or they got away from some cops who caught them climbing fire escapes in the red light district. 

Zaizen, Hiyoshi thinks, remembering the other boy is there.

Hiyoshi looks at him, not sure what he is expecting Zaizen to be doing, and sees him concentrating on whatever game he is playing like he was before, like this was normal, like nothing happened.

Kirihara stretches his arms above his head, arching his back, cracking his vertebrae. He moans contently then drops his hands into his lap and smiles brightly at Hiyoshi, who feels a bit better than he did before.

 

* * *

 

Neither Kirihara nor Zaizen bring up the fact that Hiyoshi freaked out. Hiyoshi is thankful for their understanding silence on the matter.

On Friday night they climb up onto Zaizen’s room with a blanket and a bottle of liquor that Hiyoshi can’t pronounce correctly according to Zaizen. They sit close together on the blanket, Kirihara sitting between Zaizen’s legs, reclining back as if Zaizen is a giant pillow. They pass the bottle back and forth, their combined heat keeping them warm in the night air.

“The moon‘s huuuge,” Kirihara slurs.

Zaizen takes the bottle from Kirihara’s hand and closes it tight. “That’s enough for you,” he says, putting the bottle safely to the side. Hiyoshi wonders if it will roll down the roof. The idea makes him laugh louder than it should.

“Wha’s funny?” Kirihara asks, glancing at him.

Hiyoshi shakes his head, smiling widely, drunk beyond reason.

Kirihara pats Zaizen’s knee with his palm. “Hikaru.”

“What?”

“Hiiikaaaruuu.”

Zaizen snickers. “What?”

Kirihara turns awkwardly in-between Zaizen’s legs, his hands not quite finding holding where they should, his body dulled and slowed by the alcohol. He plants a sloppy kiss on Zaizen’s neck, sucking loudly, slurping noises mixing with the owls and rustle of leaves.

Zaizen moans and Hiyoshi stares.

Worse still, Zaizen stares back.

Hiyoshi turns as red as Mukahi’s hair. “Um,” he says, beginning to shift to stand, the alcohol hitting him hard. He stumbles back onto his ass. “I should go inside…”

“Stay,” Zaizen says, eyes unwavering until he reaches down to gently grab Kirihara’s head and guide him up to kiss him full on the mouth. They miss a little, a minor side effect of the alcohol in their blood, then correct their angles and soon they’re kissing like they had that night in the park. Kirihara leans into Zaizen’s chest, soft moans humming in the cool night air, Hiyoshi’s heart close to deafening.

Hiyoshi stays and can’t look away.

 

* * *

 

Kirihara complains loudly about his headache. Hiyoshi turns over from his spot on Zaizen’s floor, pressing his face into a pillow that somehow found it’s way under his head. He thought for sure he would have died of alcohol poisoning in his sleep.

At this point, he would take death to his raging migraine and Kirihara’s bitching.

“Akaya, I swear to every god in every religion that if you do not _shut the fuck up_ , I will toss you off the roof.”

Zaizen thwacks Kirihara with a pillow to show that he is all for Hiyoshi’s plan. Kirihara whines, but shuts up and presses close to Zaizen, who wraps an arm around his torso and pulls him closer. The two are a mangled mix of limbs on Zaizen’s bed. Hiyoshi can hear them kissing messily for a few minutes before Zaizen murmurs for Kirihara to try and sleep. 

Hiyoshi reaches down his body for a blanket that is not there. He curses.

“Hmm?” Zaizen sounds too tired to actually produce words.

“Your floor is cold,” Hiyoshi says.

“Then get on the bed.”

He shouldn’t. It’ll hurt more than his head does right now when he’s sobered up and thinking straight. But right now, he isn’t thinking straight and being with them is the only thing in the world he wants. Right now, he isn’t hurting and that is more than he can say most of the time.

“Okay,” he agrees.

Hiyoshi forces himself to his feet, standing still for several seconds to determine if he’s going to throw up or not, and then takes the few steps towards the bed. Zaizen tosses back the sheets for Hiyoshi, who lies with his chest to Kirihara’s back, eyes meeting Zaizen’s for a brief moment. Then Zaizen looks down the bed to make sure the blanket is covering everyone.

“You’re really warm, Wakashi,” Kirihara says. He reaches behind him to grab onto one of Hiyoshi’s arms then tugs it forward so Hiyoshi has an arm around him. “Feels good. Wanna kiss you, Wakashi.”

“Go to sleep, Akaya,” Zaizen says.

Kirihara doesn’t need to be told a third time; Hiyoshi doesn’t even need to be told once.

 

* * *

 

“Hikaru, move,” Kirihara says softly, afraid to speak too loud and fuel the liquor’s wrath. “Your boner is annoying.”

“It’s _morning_.”

“That doesn’t mean I want your dick on my ass.”

Zaizen sighs and sits up, rubbing his eyes then trailing his hand up through his messy bed head. Hiyoshi hears their movement and the sheets shuffling and slowly opens his eyes, regretting it immensely. The light burns.

“Not so loud,” Hiyoshi grumbles.

His head pounds. His mouth is dry. His stomach feels like a pit—partly from his hangover and partly from the heavy weight of the reality settling down on him. He desperately wants them to pretend it never happened, like they had his panic, but Zaizen and Kirihara aren’t known for doing what Hiyoshi expects or hopes of them.

“I should head out,” Hiyoshi says.

Kirihara turns towards Hiyoshi, facing him, and drops an arm over his chest. Hiyoshi tilts his head and— _oh_ that was a mistake. Kirihara is staring at him, so close, closer than he’s ever been, and Hiyoshi can feel proof against his leg that Kirihara has the same problem as Zaizen. Hiyoshi feels blood heat up his neck and cheeks.

“I meant it.” Hiyoshi is afraid to ask what Kirihara means, but Kirihara answers for him, “Last night, when I said I wanted to kiss you. I wanna kiss you, Wakashi. “

This must be a dream, Hiyoshi thinks. There’s no other way that this could be happening. Because Kirihara and Zaizen are together, and people don’t have threesomes, that’s not what normal people do.

When did Kirihara get even closer?

“Can I kiss you, Wakashi?”

Hiyoshi looks to Zaizen for help, but Zaizen is staring at him with a dark look in his eyes, watching Kirihara inch closer, _closer_ —

“Yes,” Hiyoshi says without thinking.

Hiyoshi returns his eyes to Kirihara just in time to see Kirihara, who smiles at Hiyoshi like he’s the only important thing in the world. Kirihara closes his eyes, his smile dimming with concentration. Kirihara’s lips are softer than Hiyoshi imagined; they lack the rough spontaneity of Kirihara’s personality, but it's not bad. It’s far from bad. With Kirihara pressing closer to his side, his tongue gently prodding at the crease of his lips, Hiyoshi thinks that he could take on the world. With Kirihara and Zaizen with him, he could do anything.

Shit. Zaizen. 

Hiyoshi forces himself back. “But you and Hikaru—“ He looks at Zaizen, who shakes his head. “What does that mean?”

“Do we honestly have to spell it out for you?” Zaizen asks.

“I would like that, yes,” Hiyoshi replies.

Kirihara laughs, pressing his face into Hiyoshi’s neck. He breathes in deeply even though Hiyoshi probably smells like sweat and alcohol. “We’re okay with it,” Kirihara says. “With you, with us, all of us. We have been since the beginning.”

Hiyoshi frowns because he does not understand.

Zaizen sighs, annoyed at Hiyoshi’s hard headedness, and leans over Kirihara to Hiyoshi. He kisses Hiyoshi with more force than Kirihara, his tongue prying instead of prodding, and Hiyoshi moans as he opens his lips.

“Kinda getting squished here,” Kirihara says.

Zaizen pulls away, kisses Kirihara’s neck just right so Kirihara laughs reflexively, then sits back straight. Hiyoshi doesn’t know who to look at, what to think, what to say or do or _feel._

“We won’t force you,” Zaizen says, though it’s a little late when he just had his tongue in Hiyoshi’s mouth. “But we both know that you like us. You should know that we both like you too.”

“How would it work?” Hiyoshi asks dumbly. “How does something like this work?”

“Fuck if I know,” Kirihara says. “But when have we ever known?”

Zaizen offers Hiyoshi a look, a glance that Hiyoshi interprets as _what he said_.

Hiyoshi knows he’s fucked ten ways from Sunday when Kirihara grins and Zaizen joins in. He can never say no to them, not like this, even if he wanted to.

He wouldn’t be surprised if one day he were in a jail cell with Kirihara and Zaizen by his side. Or maybe in another grave. It’s hard to tell Kirihara and Zaizen, but he’s willing to take that risk. 


End file.
